[center][h1][b][color=9e0b0f]S P I D E R - M A N   I I[/color][/b][/h1][/center][hr]

He missed his family. He missed his friends, his home and his bed. He missed the car horns that intruded his bedroom in the morning, and the cracked plasterboard that crumbled ever so slowly, speck by speck, particle by particle, from his ceiling. He missed the way Kate crinkled her nose when she woke up, as if it was a mild annoyance that she had to get out of bed. It crossed his mind how clichéd it was, but he missed her touch and her smile, and how she cupped her hands over her mouth when she laughed. He missed her and he missed Ganke, he missed Judge and he missed Kamala, he missed his Mom and he missed his Dad, but most of all, he missed his freedom. The freedom to swing from building to building with his webs, to look over Manhattan’s skyline from the top of the Empire State Building; to help people. To do some good.

Miles Morales missed it all. But as time continued to move by with each excruciatingly slow second, it became ever clearer that he would never be able to return home. The six-armed woman had made sure to tell him so. And yet, some hope still remained.

He had no idea how long he’d been captive in this place, or how many death games he’d been forced to participate in. All he knew is that they never ended. What time he didn’t spend in his cell was spent navigating labyrinths plunged into darkness, forced to rely on his spider-sense to survive, avoiding the deathtraps strewn across their corridors without so much as a torch. Sometime during the games, the floor would drop beneath him, leaving nothing but a black abyss, and he’d be forced to use his webs, his spider-sense telling him which surfaces along the ceiling and walls were safe to cling onto. One wrong choice and he would fall to his death.

One wrong choice, and he would never see Kate again.

The thought echoed through his mind as he awoke in what was becoming a frustratingly familiar red force field, dread swelling within him as he realised that he was about to be thrust into the death games yet again. His web-shooters were clasped onto his wrists, as they always were when he came to in the bubble, and with a curse he checked how many cartridges of web fluid he had left: two – the ones in the shooters, one full and one half empty. [color=9e0b0f][i]Dammit.[/i][/color] He pinched his masked brow. [color=9e0b0f][i]Dammit, dammit, dammit.[/i][/color] That wasn’t enough. It might last him for this course – [i]might[/i] – but next time? He was a dead man. A dead, dead man.

It was fitting, he supposed. The man he was trying to honour, to succeed, was one of the greats; a hero of heroes, who lived and died as one. And who was Miles but the entire opposite? A coward who began to use his powers for the good of others not because he wanted to, not because he [i]should[/i], but because he felt guilty. Because he felt like he needed to make up for his mistakes. To die a coward’s death, running out of the one thing keeping him alive, was only fair.

[i]“Don’t be an idiot, Miles,”[/i] Kate’s voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and passionate. [i]“You think [/i]he[i] would ever let himself think like that?”[/i]

She was right, of course. He wouldn’t. 

[color=9e0b0f][i]What would Peter Parker do?[/i][/color]

Miles stood up in his cage, expecting to be met with the same pitch blackness he always saw. But now it was replaced by light, and the labyrinth he was usually forced to traverse was not there; below him was an arena, a coliseum filled with alien structures made of rusted iron and crumbling stone, a sight that reminded him of those Hunger Games books Kamala always used to go on about. He strained his eyes. At distant areas of the arena were what looked like four other red spheres much like his own. If he had to guess, people like him were in there, slaves to their enigmatic captors, made to participate in sick games for an invisible audience’s enjoyment. Dread filled him anew as he realised what was happening. He was going to have to fight them. He was going to have to [i]kill[/i] them. 

Miles tensed as the cell began roar, lowering towards the ground at a steady speed. The red bubble pulsated in rhythm with a siren that pierced his ears. Miles braced himself, waiting for the moment it would fade.

[color=9e0b0f][i]What would Peter Parker do?[/i][/color]

He would hang back. He would observe. He wouldn’t throw himself towards any danger unless it was absolutely necessary, unless it was life or death. 

The force field faded, and so did Miles, the light that reflected off of his costume blending him into his surroundings. 

[color=9e0b0f][i]Okay, Miles. Just don’t get yourself killed.[/i] 
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